


This Place of Human Soul

by Pie_C96 (StumblesUponThis)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Keyleth Appreciation, Self Growth, Self-Esteem Issues, Vaxleth - Freeform, don't fight me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10173437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StumblesUponThis/pseuds/Pie_C96
Summary: Sometimes her mind weighs down on her heart more often than she'd like.(It doesn't care because it's her, in the end.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> A tentative hand at character study and a wee attempt of Keyleth appreciation; it may not be accurate because I only flitted through episodes and watched live streams when i had the time, and constructive criticism is well appreciated. Thanks. Beware the tags if any of the content triggers you, and leave a comment down below please. No beta. Title taken from that very conversation.

It's trying sometimes, when one remembers that they are just two, three years away from a world they once knew and loved.

She still has night terrors - the loud, wet crunch of bone and sinew twisting underneath vines, her bloodied hands, the too familiar face of a boy frozen in fear, the blues and greens of rot smelling of dead earth and the violence of fire surrounding her, _so much fire -_

She's loud, too used to being with only her family, her clan for company; a father who loved her, but wanted her to succeed - the protectiveness bleeding through his stern words and hardened gaze, training her for a world harsher than his lessons.

Three years, and one would think that with all the training her father had given her, with the painful, cautionary tale of a memory of losing her mother and having nearly lost her friends, she would have learned to be wise, would have stopped fumbling with her spells like a child barely taking her first steps, and would have learned to still her tongue and curb her heart's words.

She's not used to speaking lines decorated with spun gold and silver linings, her honesty and naïveté a blockade that hindered more than it helped, tripping over her sentences with all the gracefulness of a newborn deer -

She wasn't her father, who led the air ashari with the charismatic air of a born leader, who inspired others and created paths for them to follow; could never hope to be as scandalously charming as Scanlan the bard, who played a tune that delighted and despaired others in turn, who knew the right words to give when needed; could scarcely dream of being as confident and sure as Grog, who dived in with reckless abandon and yet, was the most down to earth person who reigned them back when needed; would never dare to be as witty or sharp as Vex'ahlia or Percival, who wield their knowledge just as keenly as they did their weapons, who held themselves aloft and proud despite the doubt that clouded their minds at trying times; barely keeping up with Vax'ildan's courage and steadfast loyalty, barely believing the pride, and love he had for this ragtag group that somehow became family in the span of three years.

She sorely missed Tiberius' booming voice, and the confidence he had in her that made her feel balanced, wanted - she wanted to aspire to Pike's unrelenting kindness, the cleric's unwavering faith and the awe inspiring strength she had despite her small frame.

And mistakes were made despite her wanting to be better after three years away from the world that kept her safe:

Her words were caught in her constant flustering, her anger blinded her careful choices, her cautiousness made her hesitant to act and cost her precious time when it was sorely needed, her spells and tactics laughable when compared to survivors like the rest of Vox Machina.

It seemed like all she did was go one step forward and two steps off the precipice, despite three years of being on the road with her makeshift family.

She couldn't meditate like this.

Keyleth breathed in, and the hitch in her chest became a quiet sob.

She couldn't do anything right, not anymore.

She sat in the midst of her despair, the silence weighing on her shoulders with the help of insidious whispers of self doubt and self loathing pressing downwards; she doesn't hear her door pushed open, nor the quiet click of the latch being closed after. But she knew who it was that stood behind her anyway.

'You're thinking rather loud for someone who's supposed to be sleeping,' Vax'ildan murmured, not quite touching her but leaning towards the space between them as he sat by her side.

She tried to laugh; a weak, watery chuckle made its way out instead.

'I'm sorry, I know it's a little - pathetic, I guess,' she whispered quietly in reply, the fabric of her dress bunched up and hopelessly wrinkled underneath her fists.

A calloused hand reached over to hers, and tugged it gently towards his lap. The rogue traced a few indiscernible patterns on the back her hand.

'But what are you apologising for?'

He doesn't look at her face, which was probably tear streaked and blotchy with red at this point, and focused on encircling her wrist instead.

She's grateful that he doesn't mention her crying. She was a rather ugly crier, after all.

'You shouldn't need to apologise for thinking up a storm, and certainly not for being who you are,' Vax'ildan's voice was firm, and Keyleth couldn't stop staring, because -

'You remember what I said to you that night, yeah?'

She does. She just doesn't believe it.

When he looks up and catches her eye, her instincts scream at her to look away and run, but the sheer amount of solemn, unwavering emotion in his eyes made her still.

'I'll say it as many times as you need me to - and even when you've believed, I'll say it again, and again,' Vax'ildan's tone was fierce, and unapologetic, 'I admire your strength, Keyleth - the tenacity to want to be better, to be stronger, to be kinder to others even when the world has beaten you down and has all but screamed at you when you've failed,'

He brought her hand upwards to press a gentle kiss in the centre of her palm,

'You, are an inspiration to me - you, who remembered your mistakes, but have never let it cloud your actions, who held your morals high even when we disagreed with it,'

A soft graze of lips on the inside of her wrist made her tremble,

'You regret that you've made mistakes, you try to speak even when words are not your forte, you stumble your way through and yet you come out standing - you are a person who tries to make it right, and I love you for it.'

She doesn't flinch when he gently knocked his forehead with hers, a gentle reminder that he was right here with her instead of an embarrassing dream of self comfort,

'I love this woman before me, for all that she is and all that she stands for, and I'll believe in her, even when you forget to -'

He kisses away her tears, and smiled so lovingly that it was hard to dissuade him from doing so,

'I'll be by your side when you forget to love her, alright?'

She smiled back then, and a tentative hope flickers in her chest.


End file.
